


Ebasaam

by hotleafjuice



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Friendship, Nightmares, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:28:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotleafjuice/pseuds/hotleafjuice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstance put her in the center.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebasaam

**Author's Note:**

> Ebasaam - We all are
> 
> I don't have a beta so I apologize for mistakes.

Nazneen pulled her legs up to her chest, hugging them tightly. A plate of untouched food sat in front of her, and a cup of long-cold tea sat beside it. She pretended that she could not feel the eyes of the other patrons. For a moment, she lost herself in the gentle words of Maryden's song. A burst of laughter pulled her back to awareness.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sera and Varric bent with heads together and several mugs between them. Nazneen caught them looking in her direction more than once. A particularly loud group of soldiers entered the tavern from both doors, and she took advantage of the commotion to leave.

Outside, the wind cut through her immediately, stirring freshly fallen snow. Haven was most miserably cold place that she had been, and yet she could not bring herself to hate it entirely. Nazneen rubbed her arms vigorously in a vain attempt to generate warmth. She decided to return to the little cottage set aside for her, the same one that she awoke in after sealing the rift that nearly cost her her life. Cassandra said it was hers to do with as she pleased, but the space barely looked lived-in.

Nazneen tried to quiet her mind enough to sleep, but the anxiety crawling under her skin would not leave her be. Her eyes closed, and all she could see was red—lyrium, blood, eyes. Sweat began to bead along her hairline, and with it came the phantom burn of red lyrium. She sat up with her knees to her chest and hid her face. They would all die if she failed. She started to rock back and forth.

Breathing became painful in tight, short gasps. She griped her horns tight enough to stretch her skin painfully across each knuckle. Varric looked up at her from the bars of his cell, cracked red lines splitting his skin. Fiona melted into the red, utterly consumed. Leliana's look of almost relief when the demon tore her apart. Dorian's iron grip as he pulled her into the portal. Her eyes flooded with tears.

***

Nazneen looked across the table at her advisors, each of them with unreadable expressions. She wondered what they saw or didn't see in her face. “Herald, it will take time to get the mages settled in and readied, then we march by your leave.” Cullen's voice washed over her as noise. “Herald?”

“Adaar?”

Nazneen turned to Cassandra. “Yes, Seeker?”

Cassandra exchanged furtive glances with the others. The recent changes in the Herald concerned her, but she knew that voicing those concerns would be unwelcome. Cassandra supposed it was her fault. She had done little to gain Nazneen's trust beyond Inquisition business. The ashen pallor of the Herald's skin only brought more attention to the dark circles around her eyes that could pass for bruises.

“The Commander is working with the Grand Enchanter to ready the best of the mages for the breach.” She got an absent nod in return.

Cullen had only just open his mouth to speak when Nazneen simply stood and quietly left the room.

“There must be something we can do for Mistress Adaar. She is clearly unwell. Varric and Dorian says she doesn't eat, and I've heard talk among some of the guards on patrol that the lights in her cottage never go out.” Josephine looked at her colleagues in turn.

Cassandra sighed. “It makes me wonder what she isn't telling us about that dark future. I tried to speak to the Tevinter, but he makes a habit of talking in circles.”

“I worry she won't be well enough for the assault on the breach.” Cullen tapped his fingers absently along the hilt of his sword.

***

“Seeker, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Varric set his quill aside then flexed his fingers.

Cassandra leaned against wall just inside the door. “It's about the Herald.”

“She has a name, you know.”

“It's about Adaar.”

“Not sure that I can help you there, Seeker.” He looked at her with a frown.

“She's... ill.” Cassandra bit her lower lip, trying to find the right words. “Ever since Redcliff, Adaar has grown more and more... distant.”

Varric sighed. “Andraste's ass.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What did you expect? She's a kid. She's Qunari. She's separated from her family. She's a mage in the middle of a mage rebellion. Even you have to admit that seventeen is a little young to shoulder a world at war.”

“We worry for her.”

“You worry for her usefulness,” that tinge of bitterness made Cassandra look away. “You give her impossible task on top of impossible task then act surprised when she can't handle it.” Varric tried not to think of Hawke and all the impossible things she walked away from, sometimes just barely. “Just... give her some time.”

***

Nazneen sat on the floor in a corner of Adan's shop. Occasionally, Adan would look over at the young Qunari, grudgingly impressed with her skill in herbalism. At first, he did not know what to think of a Herald of Andraste that could not fight. Antithetically, she was a child of peace, and she channeled all of her considerable mental focus into the healing arts.

Adan looked at the little collection of bottles sitting at the Herald's side, and he watched for a few moments as she worked on grinding elfroot. “Herald, I'm sure Seeker Pentaghast has other tasks for you.” Nazneen only shrugged in reply.

Night had completely settled in when Adan finally hustled the Qunari out of his shop. “Closing up for the night, Herald.” Nazneen watched as Adan made his way toward the tavern.

Nazneen took the long route back to her little house, giving the tavern a wide berth.

***

Sleep did not come easily. She snatched moments in distressing fits that always left her shaking. Sometimes, she would gasp for air like she was drowning. Her mental turmoil made the fade a dark place with twists and turns, and reaching hands. The spirits she normally reached out to had fled the frightening landscape of red lyrium and mangled bodies.

In her periphery, ominous shapes began to form. Was she running, she couldn't tell, and she felt the first tendrils of cold sneaking up her spine. A pained wail echoed, growing louder and louder until she felt smothered. Her breath came forth in a dense cloud. She knew now what pursued her—despair.

No, no, no, not like this. The ground shifted under her feet, and her clothing caught on brambles that were not there before. She tasted blood in her mouth. When the earth finally gave way into abyss, she could not even scream. The darkness rushed inside her like the tide. The pain was beyond that of even the anchor. She had forgotten the anchor, and in the gloom she could only see the barest hint of green light.

She thought of her parents, standing tall and proud and free as she had always known them. Her mother had a lopsided smile that created dimples. Her father had the deepest laugh she has ever heard, and the sound of it used to fill her up.

There were flickers of Varric at his flimsy writing desk, and flickers of the stories he spun for her.

The sun reflecting off the buckles of Dorian's outfit were blinding silver, and she could feel his fingers in her hair, braiding it for her, twisting it artfully around her horns.

Sera's uninhibited laugh swelled around her.

Then the scent of ink and parchment and prophet's laurel—Josephine.

The flash of light stunned her, and when she thought herself entirely lost, bursts of silver and gold broke through. A hand reached out to her, and hope bloomed.

Nazneen cried out, her breath shuddering before a sob broke through. The door opened with enough force to splinter, and haloed in torchlight was Cassandra Pentaghast. “Herald!” Nazneen stared at her, her silver eyes wide and tears streaming. Cassandra waved off the people gathering behind her.

Since the door no longer fit the frame, a chair was used to hold it in place. Cassandra lit several of the lanterns scattered around the cottage. Nazneen sat with her hands twisted in her sheets, which were tangled around her. Her hair come undone, and thick, frazzled, white braids hung over her shoulders.

Nazneen's voice cracked on a single word, “Cassandra.”

Cassandra had no practice in giving comfort, but she stood at the Qunari's side. After a moment, she started to unwind the braids caught on Nazneen's horns. Nazneen leaned heavily into that touch.


End file.
